Word and Deed (6 page)

She moved as fast as her sore muscles allowed
and stumbled inside. A hermit’s shack, the one-room structure did
not offer much comfort. A fireplace took up most of the right wall.
A small cupboard-like lean-to added for storage hid behind a
rickety door to the left of the hearth. Leaves and bugs littered
the floor and swaths of spider webs rustling with carcasses filled
the room. Movement among the clutter and the rotting window
coverings did not help her first impression. The only thing
resembling a bed crouched along the length of one wall. In essence
it was a wooden shelf with an old straw mattress on it. She pulled
off the decaying mess and, using her skirt, she brushed off the
bugs. Now came the harder part.

Upon returning outside, she almost cried at
the sight of him. He managed to prop himself against the wall. In
this position, he dozed. Every line of his body screamed
discomfort.

Gently, Eve woke him. Together they got him
to his feet and through the door. He fell onto the hard pallet. She
winced as his face contorted in pain. She knelt near his shoulder
to work on making him more comfortable. The gash in his arm needed
stitching, which required thread. She glanced at the single window.
Twilight veiled the sky and there was much to do.

“What is your name?” His voice wavered so
weakly she barely heard him. She met his eyes, dark and glassy with
pain and fatigue.

“Eve.”

With a shallow, bitter laugh, he said, “How
ironic.” Then, as if the strength to fight unconsciousness drained
from him, his eyes closed, and his head rolled to one side.

For a frantic moment Eve feared she had lost
him, but his weak pulse reassured her. She watched his chest rise
and fall and tried to decide what to do next.

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The Mercenary’s Marriage

By Rachel Rossano

Part I

“There is nothing on this one.”

Darius purposely turned his face away from
the man who spoke. He hated the necessary collecting of the spoils
after every battle. As he rose from his crouch, he scanned the
room.

Spotting the king, Darius strode toward
him.

“Have they searched every room?” King Simon
Jenran of Braulyn asked as Darius approached. The question was
directed to the two soldiers who had just arrived.

“No,” the older of the two answered wearily.
“Just the women's apartments.”

“Then keep looking; we must find her,” the
king instructed. Dismissing the pair with a wave, he turned to face
Darius.

“Nothing?” Darius asked as soon as the king's
attention was focused on him. As he watched his liege’s face,
Darius noted the lines deepening around his master's mouth. King
Jenran had aged ten years in the past eight months.

“Nothing.” The king frowned. “They have not
finished looking, but my guess is they will continue to find
nothing.” He walked to a nearby chair and sank into it. “Has
justice been served?” He nodded toward the corpse Darius had been
examining.

“Dead,” Darius informed him.
And dead too
soon,
he added silently. The outcome of this siege was
disappointing. Two months spent traveling north and then six months
of sitting on their hands. The experience would drag on any
warrior. All the time spent in attaining a goal, only to be routed
at the last moment with an archer’s arrow.

“He died instantly,” he added after a pause.
The king nodded. Darius did not have to add the rest. They both
knew who released the arrow that killed the man: a young man, green
with inexperience. It was over and nothing would bring the man back
now.

Darius waited as his master thought. The
king's bloodshot brown eyes stared off into space. Darius was
beginning to think the king had fallen asleep, when he suddenly
spoke in a low voice so only Darius could hear. “She was still here
this morning.” Straightening in his chair, the king continued.
“Gwendolyn and her women left a trail only a few hours old.” The
king met Darius' eyes.

A movement caught the edge of Darius' vision,
but he did not acknowledge it. Jenran continued, “If we can
determine which direction they took, we might be able to overtake
them.”

Casually nodding his agreement, Darius swept
his gaze across the room. Speaking so only his master could hear,
he added, “We have an observer.” The man was crouched behind one of
the tapestries along the walls. Both exits were two or three hiding
places from the hidden man’s position.

“Where is he?” The king did not move except
to look up and catch Darius's eye as if they were in
conversation.

Just then, the figure darted between
shelters. Darius felt his mouth drop; he quickly disguised it by
saying, “A girl.”

“Did you just say it was a girl?” Jenran's
weary eyes sharpened and focused more carefully on Darius.

“Yes.” Darius carefully turned so he could
watch both his master and the girl. “Small build, dark hair, she is
definitely not Gwendolyn or one of her frequent companions.” The
girl darted to the next hiding place. She was one sprint away from
freedom. Darius knew how she felt. The tempo of the heart pounding
in his chest and the taste of liberty on his tongue were both
familiar sensations. “She is mine,” he said. He glimpsed the king’s
smile.

“If you catch her,” he agreed.

The girl darted and Darius followed. She
disappeared out the door as he silently hurtled the last bench
between them.

Brice ran for her life. The empty halls
closed in around her and she was certain every sound echoed louder
than the last. She needed to get away before someone saw her. Since
birth, she heard stories about how mercenaries treated the women
captives after a battle. She could not be discovered. Eventually,
she found herself in the promenade opening into the inner gardens.
The moment her eyes fell on the lush underbrush bordering and
overgrowing the paths, she had an idea.

As she turned down the nearest avenue among
the trees, Brice caught sight of movement behind her. Was someone
following her?

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And in print at major online booksellers